About a month ago, I returned unexpectedly to the United States due to the COVID-19 outbreak. I have contemplated really even posting this at all, to be honest. To formulate the words and feelings of this whole experience is hard for everyone right now, whether or not you’ve been thrown back into the United States or never left at all. But, here we are. My intentions for this post aren’t about me and my sad feelings. This is about the pain and suffering of our world, of our most vulnerable communities. So much uncertainty, so much to wrap your head and heart around. So many heartbreaking ends and goodbyes. So many missed opportunities. So many losses. So much death. To say that things have changed since my last blog are an understatement. The last time I posted, we were wrapping up our Christmas season, just starting hosting our retreat groups, and finally getting in the swing of things. There was so much promise and excitement for our months to come. Turning points in sight. Getting involved in new things. Mustering up the courage to try something different, visit someone we don’t know as well, take on more. In the beginning of February, we volunteers had our six month retreat at the beach in Playas, where we got to digest our lives a little deeper. To reflect on the things that just didn’t make sense. To try and wrap our heads around the struggles we see everyday, how we could better accompany, where we can find hope when things just seem, well, overall shitty no matter how you put it. And boy, were the early months of 2020 difficult for me. With school vacation, and therefore limited work, I was feeling quite purposeless. Relationships grew stronger, which means life got more real, deeper, heavier. I struggled to find any hope in anything. I felt that no matter what I do, my friends and neighbors will still be living in poverty, not be able to have the same opportunities I have. They will live with illnesses and health challenges. They will miss out on going to college in the States. They will have dreams unfulfilled. They will worry about the next meal on the table. They will live with the fact that the tanqueros, water trucks, will just stop coming sometimes. Some will continue to be up to knees in mud. And as I reflected on these challenges that felt debilitating to witness, not even fully experiencing them myself, I sought out support to try and find some peace in my head. And the answer, essentially, that I discovered was that despite all of these challenges...well, my neighbors and friends just keep living. And they do so with pride and resilience and openness and vulnerability and love. And faith that is so overwhelming it’s hard to even express. Little did I know that so, so much would change...and all my personal understanding and challenges would seem so minuscule as I sit here on my laptop in Connecticut. Each and every one of us probably has their list of how their life was altered by COVID19 and what they have lost because of it. This is how it’s been for me. It all started with a beautiful visit with my parents. I am beyond fortunate to have had them visit and see a little bit of my home in Ecuador, meeting some very important people to me and also just spending quality time together. It’s something I know we will all cherish and remember forever. And with their visit, thanks to the accessibility of my Dad’s phone, I got filled in a little bit on the upcoming pandemic and how it was progressing. And all of a sudden it became a conversation not just with family, but with neighbors, community partners, our directors. And it all happened so quickly. We volunteers don’t have internet access at our homes, so we go to Internet cafes where we pay to use the computers. Basically, time there is limited and we are quite selective with how we use our time-- to get in touch with family and friends, look up activities or research for work, etc. I honestly admit that my research on worldly events was quite limited in my attempt to stay present to where I was. The consequence to this was an overwhelming naivety to the gravity of this situation. All of a sudden, our time as volunteers was flipped on its side. Our month of March, anticipating almost a full month of retreat groups, was emptied. Groups cancelled. Family visits cancelled. Our own personal traveling trips cancelled. It was overall stressful and unexpected, but we always found the brightside. More time with neighbors and friends. More time for our own community to bond. An opportunity to accompany more through these unprecedented times. The last thing we ever expected was to return home. On March 17th, our directors made the decision to pull us from Ecuador and for us to return to the United States. We were on the last flight out of Guayaquil to the States. The Ecuadorian borders were going to close, and it was for our best safety to return home... to avoid the illness itself on a fragile health care system and to avoid the food scarcity that comes with a global pandemic in developing countries, just to name a few reasons. I will never doubt that it was the right decision, but it completely and utterly shattered my heart. And I was completely blindsided, in denial that this was ever an option. Little did I know, numerous volunteer programs all over the world were also pulling their volunteers. We were nowhere alone in this completely shocking revelation. That after almost 8 months, we would be returning home to self-quarantine and the unknown. After taking some time to gather ourselves, my community and I began our trek around Arbolito to get to those we could and inform them that we would be taking a leave of absence. We had one afternoon to say “hasta pronto,” not knowing when the next time would actually be. We didn’t get to everyone. But we promised our return as soon as we possibly could. And now at home we remain, in the comfort of heat and blankets and food and a roof to protect us. In the comfort of my own room, where I can retreat and hide and reflect on whatever the hell is going on. And we stay connected through our Whatsapp and Zoom calls. And I finally have internet access to reconnect with friends and family. And I’ve definitely had to cook a lot less. And I have my loving parents and sisters to listen and support me, even when I don’t know what I need to be supported. I am so endlessly blessed. And I should be grateful to be home, to be safe, to be with my loved ones who give me everything I need. But it doesn’t quite take away the feeling that I am not supposed to be here right now. This is not what is supposed to be happening. There was so much more to feel, to love, to witness, to accompany, to learn. And it is just not fair. A common sentiment felt all around the world right now. It’s been quite the transition in understanding how to “be”, right now, quite ironically since we spent the last 8 months trying to “be” with our neighbors every single day. There is no easy way to accompany when you are thousands of miles away. Especially, as our city of Guayaquil is the epicenter of COVID19 in South America. The Ecuadorian government has estimated that over 14,000 people have died in the Guayas province alone (which includes Guayaquil and Duran). It is in absolute, complete, disbelieving shambles as we speak. With dead bodies lining the street, not being removed for days. Cremated in the streets. For people living in homes with their deceased loved ones because no one will come pick them up. With bodies being lost in the system, unidentified. Families losing the remains of whom they love. A strict curfew that many adhere to, but others simply cannot because they need to work to survive. With tiendas closed and food prices gorged and sparse. And with a completely collapsed system that cannot manage the magnitude to how quickly this disease is spreading. And just endless waiting. Waiting for help. Waiting for answers. Waiting. And death. Too much death. And I sit here, waking up every morning in my comfort, privileged way of dealing with COVID19, trying to grapple with the fact that I was able to escape all the pain and suffering that is going on in Ecuador. That I could just jump on a plane. While so many cannot. And as I grapple with the guilt, I also remain scared for my own family and friends’ health with the idea that our lives could just so quickly change at any second. A humbling, immensely painful fact that I have never really had to think about in my life. With seemingly a new piece of bad news arriving every week, it has become extremely difficult to manage to cope with what is going on in the surrounding area of Guayaquil, in Ecuador, in our own country, and around the world. Again, a common sentiment I think many are facing right now. I am not the type of person to admit that “brighter days” are coming and maybe that makes me a pessimist. But the reality is, well, this pandemic will change all of us, forever. And sitting in that, leaning into it, pondering it, meditating or praying over that….maybe that will provide some real answers. Maybe it will create more questions. Right now, the futures of so many are on the line. Loved ones, providers of families, have passed. One of Rostro de Cristo’s longtime partners, a foundation that provides an incredible education to children from the barrios of Guayaquil, has just announced they will be closing due to economical struggle. And so it continues. The hundreds of families who just lost one of the most precious things in their life: access to a quality education. An education that these parents fought for their children. It is heartbreaking. So where do we find the hope in this? The community of volunteers and our staff decided to do a Living Stations of the Cross this past Good Friday via Zoom… definitely a virtual first for all of us. And as we reflected on the current events of the world, particularly the suffering of Guayaquil and Duran, while simultaneously reflecting on Jesus’s death, it was strikingly easy to see the overwhelming similarities. And now more than ever, I see the Rostro de Cristo in my neighbors, who despite the sickness and death and loss and fear going on, they remain true to themselves, their family, and God. There are times of doubt. But love and faith and trust always overcome. There are absolutely no words sufficient to express just how strong the people of Ecuador are. That through this mess of our world, they sacrifice and lend a helping hand and remain faithful. And I can and will try to use the resilience they have taught me to work to find “brighter days.” That will be no easy task. But more than ever, may we find love and faith and trust in each other…. that God has provided us with the doctors, nurses, scientists, researchers, pharmacists, nursing assistants, grocers, farmers, public safety officers, custodial staff, competent and just leaders to fight this and end this. That we, as global citizens, protect ourselves and others by staying at home, al quedarnos en casa….something much more easily done for some than others. That we take care of our mental, physical, and spiritual health. That we check in on each other. And that we just try to do our very best right now, whatever that might mean to you. Right now, across the world, COVID19 is affecting everyone. But it is important to recognize that marginalized groups are affected significantly more, in Ecuador and also in the United States. In the US, COVID19 targets communities of color. This is systemic. Let us do more than recognize that...let us take action. One of the first steps in taking action is the voting booth. It’s life or death. I have so many HEROS right now who are doing sacred and holy work and FIGHTING THIS! My mom, my sister, endless family and friends. Even if I wanted to visit local friends, I couldn’t...because they’re all out there fighting this disease, playing some part through healthcare, education, and food accessibility. WOW. How lucky am I to be surrounded (metaphorically for the most part, of course) by so many HEROS? They deserve much more than a pat on the back, and I hope that something bigger than that can come to fruition. As for my resilient neighbors and friends in Ecuador, I am counting down the days until we meet again. May that time come soon, but safely. May love permeate through borders. A través este sufrimiento, estoy llorando con ustedes, como también lo hace nuestro Dios. Los quiero muchisimo. Con paz, amor, y bendiciones de salud, Steph
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